


What Happens At Night

by caffeine_addiction227



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angels, Bottom Dean, Confusion, Demons, Flashbacks, Gay Sex, Hell, M/M, Mentioned John Winchester - Freeform, Non-Consensual Bondage, Panic Attacks, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Castiel, Violence, memories of hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeine_addiction227/pseuds/caffeine_addiction227
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a need, but it's also his biggest fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Happens at Night

Chains dig into his skin, rubbing it raw, or in some places, completely off, leaving large weeping wounds on his wrists, ankles, and neck. This however, he was used to. He had been told to stay put, bent painfully in a crouched position and was not to move until told otherwise. Hardly the worst thing he had been put through. This gave him time though, to gather his bearings. He rolls his shoulders and crains his neck from side to side resulting in a few resounding pops and a small release of strain .Apparently as long as he didn't move his whole body, he was ok. Next he rolled his wrists, grunting as the wounds re-opened, doing the same with his ankles. He sighs, slumping his shoulders and raising his head slightly. Most of what was around him was dark or cast in shadow, the only light coming from down further in the pit where cries of people burning alive echoed. At times, he had been down there with them, crying out pointlessly until he no longer could only to be healed so it could start over again. One could say it was bittersweet that a demon had decided to make him his personal carving board. Most days were worse than burning alive 1000x over, but some days were just as they were this day. He hadn't broke though. Closing in at thirty years he stayed as stubborn as he had in real life. There was nothing that could... 

"Sit up straight and tall there Dean-o my boy!" a deep voice commands from behind him. Dean's muscles tighten and he clenches his jaw to keep back a smart-ass response. Instead, he slowly starts to sit back on his heels while cracks echo across the room from his back popping into place. When he is finally sitting straight up, he let out a small pent up breath. "There, not so bad was it?" came the voice behind Dean again. This time so close that he can feel the heat behind his ear and smell the rot on the demon's breath. "Did you miss me boy-o?" 

"I never do." Dean gasps, his throat raw and soar causing his voice to lose the bite he wanted it to have. 

"Tsk-tsk. I really didn't want to have to do this to you boy-o, but after these long twenty-nine years of putting you up against my favorite techniques, it's time to try something new." Dean's face curled in confusion. He had gone through the worst of the worst, how would something different work? Hell, it didn't really matter, nothing is going to make him break, he has to stay strong for Sammy. "Ya know Dean-o, your dad said a lot of interesting things while he was down here." Dean rolls his eyes, they'd gone through every insult John had ever said about him and his brother, who his favorite was, etc. etc. A hand smacked across Dean's face, "Don't roll your eyes at me. Now, where was I? Ah yes, your dear old dad." Alistar came around to face him, his demon form as disgusting and twisted as ever. He hooked a gnarled talon under the collar at Dean's neck and pulled him up close. Close enough Dean could smell death and decay rolling off him, he wanted to gag. "He told me all about your teenage years; 'bout how when you hit puberty you were still just a groveling little bitch." Dean's jaw clamped down and he glared at the demon in front of him as if the roles were reversed and he was the one in control here. "Said it took a few years of kicking your ass nearly every night just to get you to stop whining and finally start acting how a man should." Dean's gaze didn't waver, murder hanging over his eyes even though he couldn't move. "How about we see how much of a bitch you really are."

***

Dean jerked straight up in bed covered in a cold sweat, the voice in his head still echoing. It took him a few seconds to realize he wasn't in hell. He was in a motel room, dark and a bit musty, but it smelt so much better than burning skin and blood. He looked to the bed next to him and saw it was empty, still sloppily made by room service like before he went to sleep. Sighing he twisted his body to sit on the side of the bed. Only now did he realize the blade in his hand, gripped so tightly his knuckles were white. Shoving it back under his pillow he stood up with a grunt, he rubbed his neck and wrists just to be sure. Dean stripped off his sweat stained shirt and tosses it to the floor near his duffle bag before walking between the division to the next room. A small smirk tugged on his lips as he sees a familiar sight. Sam was sprawled out on the too small couch, his limbs hanging off in a humorous manner, his laptop laying on his chest still glowing softly on his face. Dean shook his head fondly and walked over lifting the laptop gently and setting it on the cheep coffee table next to the couch. He nudged Sam softly in a way that wouldn't make him bolt up in alarm. Sam's eyes flutted half open and Dean assumes he tries to say something, but all that came out is a few meaningless sounds. 

Dean let out an amused sigh, "C'mon Sammy, let's get you in bed." Sam didn't respond but his eyes close again and let Dean pull him up on his feet and guide him to the bed. He plopped down and was soon snoring away. 

Satisfied but no longer distracted, Dean was bombarded by his nightmare again. He sat back down on his bed and reached for the bottle of cheap whiskey he had placed on the nightstand for such an occasion. Taking a shot straight from the bottle, Dean struggled to drown out the voice in his head, and as the amber liquid burned down his throat, he wishes it would burn away the weight he felt on his soul. He took another drink before setting the bottle down and standing up and walking to the bathroom. He hit the switch and heard the slight buzz of the fluorescent lights as they flick to life. The mark on his arm drew his gaze to his reflection in the mirror. Like nearly every time he sees himself now, he marvels over the lack of scars save for the hand print of that douche bag angel on his arm. It's only when he looks into his reflection's eyes that he sees the darkness, the hidden turmoil and grief. On one hand, Dean's happy he can hide it so well, Sam would worry if he knew he still remembered hell. On the other hand, he has all those memories eating away at him with no real way to let them out.

Shaking his head he backed away from the mirror. He shimmied out of the rest of his clothes and hops in the shower turning it as cold as he could stand. It's not much, especially with the horrible water pressure, but it's enough to edge away the feeling of hell fire closing in around him. He stayed in the shower for about a half hour, his skin and heart numb by then. Turning off the water, Dean threw a towel around him and walked back out to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes. Sam was still sleeping like a log and Dean saw the sun about to peak over the horizon. He quickly gets dressed and packed his stuff up. Bunching up all of Sam's cables and wires, he shoved them into the other duffle bag and threw it at Sam. Sam jumped up with a yelp which Dean laughed at, for real actually laughed. 

"C'mon man, I let you sleep until the sun came up just like you asked."

Sam grumbled something under his breath and rubs his eyes. "You could have woken me up in a better way."

"Ya, but where's the fun in that? Besides, those monsters ain't gonna kill itself, we got work to do."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."


	2. Clear Blue Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean get back from a hunt and they feel like crap when Cas pops in for a visit.

No sooner had Dean turned the key in the lock did he throw himself on the floor. Sam stumbled in behind him not caring that every step ran his clunky boots into Dean's side and collapsed on one of the cheap motel beds. If Dean's ribs didn't ache, his legs didn't feel like they were on fire, and the muscles in his back didn't feel like they were twisted together like a pretzel, he might have actually cared and been disgusted by the stain of unknown origins a few inches from his face. But, as it was, he couldn't bring himself to hardly notice and instead grunted while kicking the door shut behind him. It was then that he hears something smack against the wall and his head shoots up making it hurt more than before. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam's silver blade tumbling to a halt after hitting the wall a few feet away. Dean might have laughed if he thought he had the energy to do so. 

"Hey, hey Sammy."

Sam's response came half muffled through the mattress, "What?"

"Any idea if this rat nest of a hotel has hot water?"

"The hell should I know?" Sam pushed himself up, possibly slightly curious himself. Dean could hear a couple of his joints popping and winced. 

"Well could you check for me then?"

"For you?"

"Yeah."

"I am not checking the water for you Dean, you want to know if there's hot water, you'll have to do it yourself."

Dean pouted silently feigning brotherly hurt but making no move to get up. After about five more minutes he hears Sam mumble something under his breath and drag his feet to the bathroom. A small smile formed on Dean's face when he heard the water starting.

Not two minutes later, Sam stuck his head out the door, "Water's nice and hot."

Dean took in a sharp breath as he picked himself off of the floor, his joints popping and muscles screaming at him to stay put. "Thanks Sammy, you're the be-" As soon as Dean reached the door it was slammed in his face. "C'mon Sam! That's not fair!" He knocked on the door repeatedly for a while before giving up. Since he was up, he might as well do something besides making his bed messy with sweat, dirt, and blood. He headed out to the impala and grabbed his bag from the trunk bringing it back inside and tossing it on the table. He took a seat and started sorting through what needed to be cleaned in his bag. An old rag in hand, he started breaking down his gun and wiping it down with a bit of gun oil. Thirty minutes passed and he had managed to clean everything that needed to be cleaned and even a few things that necessarily did not. He grumbled and walked back up to the bathroom door and started slamming on it again. "Sammy!" He heard a laugh but nothing more. He contemplated breaking the door down, but that was more trouble than it was worth, plus he really didn't want to see his baby brother naked. Talk about a bad mental picture. While walking back to his chair a small gust of wind blew over his face and he looked up to see a pair of blue eyes only a few inches from his own. 

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom, towel around his waste, blade in his hand, and water streaming down into his eyes, "Dean! What happened I heard you-" He looked down to see Dean angrily looking towards the towering form in front of him. Sam brushed the water out of his eyes and when he saw who it was lowered his weapon. "I'll go get dressed."

**

In record time, Sam got dressed and walked out to see Castiel sitting at the table and Dean pacing angrily in front of the beds. He cleared his throat bringing both of their attentions his way, "So...Castiel, any particular reason you're here?"

"I was told to keep watch over you both for the night." 

Sam started to reply, "I think-"

Dean stormed up to the table and smacked his fist down. "We've done fine without you feathery asshats for a long time. We don't need you here now."

Castiel just tilted his head to the side and squinted a bit. "I was ordered to be here, I have no more say than you do in this."

Dean glared and opens his mouth with a line of insults ready, but he just can't. Instead he turned around and grabbing a change of clothes, stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Sam could be mad at him all he wanted later, but for now he just needed to be mad. He didn't need to prove himself to some flying prick that just happened to appear all the fucking time. All their lives, he and Sammy had been through so much shit. Hell, Dean had even been in hell, but now was the only time God's feathered assholes started to give a shit about them. Dean's hand started to shake with the thought of hell again. The memories flashing to the surface faster than he can push them back down. It took him a good self slap to the face to get his head back to the present. Even if everything sucked, at least all those things were still just memories right? Dean tried to convince himself as he pealed off his sweat crusted clothes and turned on the water praying that there was still hot water left in the motel boiler. Just as he set his foot inside the shower, a small flurry of wind blew open the curtain. Dean looks back, his eyes going wide, "Son of a bitch!"

There was an annoying ringing in his ears when Dean woke up. Sam was starring down at him with a worried face. "Wh-what happened?" He could feel a small stabbing pain at the base of his skull, then....then he remembered. "That feathered fuckhead!"

"I told him to wait outside..."

"Good, he can stay out there if he wants to guard us from whatever the hell is suppose to do whatever. Help me up." 

Sam helped Dean up before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. "Yell if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean called back. He pulled the towel off his lap, guess Sam had put it there, and used the counter to help himself stand. He wasn't dizzy and his vision was fine, so no concussion. Thank goodness, that was the last thing he needed. He turned the water back on and carefully walked under the spray. If his body was sore before, now it was like a nuclear test site, destroyed. The water stung every inch of his skin and he loved it. It made him feel grounded and well...alive. After his shower he got dressed in some old soft clothes and walked out to see Sam already asleep and snoring. He half smiled before climbing into his own bed nearly falling asleep instantly. 

The weird thing was..for whatever reason, Dean did not have a single nightmare that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still really have no idea what I'm doing. I also know that the time between these two chapters was unacceptable and I'll try and do better. I have no beta so all mistakes are my own.


End file.
